Get Out Alive
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'Family Remains', 4x11. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Family Remains', it belongs to Eric Kripke and Jeremy Carver.**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

* * *

Dean aims the beam from the flashlight at the newspaper clipping and squints to read it in the dark. He told Sam he would find them a motel, that's why Sam laid out in the back seat of the Impala and told Dean to wake him when they got there, but Dean has no intention of getting them a place to sleep for the night. He hasn't slept more than an hour or two in days, but he actually feels better than he has in a while right now. The lack of sleep is somehow energizing, and their last few hunts have been simple and ended bloody, just how Dean likes them. He saved three people from a vampire earlier today, so that's three more names for the list. Scott Carney, Trisha McNeil, Alex Garrish. Dean mentally locks their names and faces away. Every person he keeps alive is one more tortured soul he can erase. If he saves as many as he tore apart, at least he'll be back to neutral. It's depressing, as far as life-goals go, but at least it's something to keep moving him forward.

"What're you doin'?" Sam's raspy voice asks – Dean looks up, startled. He didn't know Sam was awake, which is unusual for him. Usually he's more in tune with his brother.

"What does it look like I'm doin'?"

"Like you're looking for a job."

"Yahtzee."

Sam sighs and sits up. "We just finished a job like two hours ago."

"Adrenaline's still pumping, I guess." Dean holds up the papers he'd been looking over. "So, what d'you think? Cedar Rapids, Tulsa, or Chi-town?"

"I am all for working, I really am," Sam says, although it doesn't sound like he means it, "but you've had us chasing cases non-stop for like a month now. We need sleep."

"Ah, we can sleep when we're dead," Dean returns casually.

"You're exhausted."

"I'm good!"

"No, you're not," Sam argues. "You're running on fumes, and you can't run forever."

Dean glances back at him, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. "And what am I running from?"

"From what you told me," Sam answers. "Or are we pretending that never happened?"

Dean nods and closes his eyes for a moment. He _wishes_ it had never happened; although there is a part of him that's relieved Sam knows, mostly he's just terrified one of these days Sam's going to realize how busted up Dean is, what a miserable excuse for a human he is after what he did to all those people in Hell, and take off. Sam is the only thing keeping him together. But Dean can't admit that, so he changes the subject.

"Stratton, Nebraska. Farm town. Man gets hacked to death in a locked room inside a locked house, no signs of forced entry."

"Sounds like a ghost," Sam mumbles.

"Yes it does."

Sam sighs again and then the car rocks as he lies back down.

It's the first time Sam's mentioned Hell in a while. The morning after Dean told him about it, Sam didn't say anything. They woke up still tangled together, and it was longer than normal before Sam let them get up, but Dean didn't mind. Other than that, Sam acted for that whole day, and two or three after, like nothing had changed. Dean hadn't been expecting that at all but he appreciated it. It was hard enough to tell Sam about what happened, what he went through and what he did – Dean definitely wasn't up for hashing it out again. And then eventually Sam did bring it up, but Dean refused to talk about it and Sam gave up pretty quickly. Dean's been finding them case after case ever since because when he's working, he can forget about everything else. He isn't stupid, though. He knows they can't keep going like this forever.

"Look, I'm not … pretending," Dean says quietly. "Okay? I know what I told you. I'm not taking it back. I just can't talk about it."

"Yeah," Sam's soft voice sounds from the back seat.

Dean shifts uncomfortably. He really can't talk about it again, not without completely breaking down like he did when he finally told Sam about Hell. But he sees what it's doing to Sam, and he wishes he could fix that. "For what it's worth? Thank you."

Rustling from behind him tells Dean Sam's sitting back up. "For what?"

Dean sniffs and fidgets a little. "That night. When I told you. You were really …"

He doesn't finish the sentence, because honestly he's not even sure what he was going to say. Sam did everything right, trying to make Dean see things differently, promising Dean what happened wasn't his fault, being strong when Dean couldn't be, but it didn't make anything better. Hell still happened, Dean still remembers every minute of it, and he still hates himself for what he did.

There's more rustling from the back seat, and then Sam's arms circle around Dean's shoulders from behind. He leans right up against the back of the bench seat and presses a long kiss to the side of Dean's head. Dean blinks back tears and tucks his chin down to kiss Sam's arm where it's resting over his collarbone. He reaches behind himself and slides his fingers into Sam's hair.

"Love you," Sam whispers.

"I know," Dean answers shakily. There's still a big part of him that wishes Sam didn't. It just proves how messed up they both are, that Sam would actually _love_ a person like Dean. Sam deserves so much better, but he only wants the broken shell that Dean is right now, and that says way more bad things about him than good. Dean clears his throat and then he reaches for the keys. Sam lets his arms fall away. "You gonna stay back there?"

Sam doesn't answer, but he does climb out of the back and into the passenger's seat where he belongs. He's looking at Dean but Dean can't look back. He puts the key into the ignition and turns it, the rumble of his baby revving to life familiar and comforting. He puts her in gear and pulls her out of the wooded glen and back onto the highway. After a minute, Sam slumps down against the window and closes his eyes again, and Dean stares resolutely out the window and bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself together.

* * *

It's going to be a while before Dean can get the image of that dead girl's face out of his head. He's never seen anything like that before, a human who's lived their whole life in darkness. It's unimaginable; the life the two of them must have lived, trapped forever in crawl-spaces. Dean's glad she finally broke out and chopped that asshole up. He deserved to die more than most monsters do. In a way, Dean's sorry he didn't get to kill the man himself. After Hell, Dean sort of thought he'd seen the worst things he'd ever see, but this one hit him in all kinds of places he wishes it hadn't.

They hit up the drive-through of some local burger joint and Dean parks the Impala under an overpass. He gets out and leans against the cement barrier that runs along the edge of the road, and Sam hands him a burger wrapped in foil and leans against the side of the car. Dean unwraps it, but then realizes he isn't really hungry and puts it down.

"You okay?" Sam asks.

"You know, I felt for those sons a'bitches back there. Lifelong torture turns you in to something like that?"

"You were in Hell, Dean," Sam says quietly. "Look, maybe you did what you did there, but you're not them. They were barely human."

"Yeah, you're right." Guilt claws at Dean in his chest. "I wasn't like them. I was worse. They were animals, Sam. Defending territory. Me? I did it for the sheer pleasure."

Sam frowns. "What?"

"I enjoyed it, Sam. They took me off the rack and I tortured souls, and I liked it."

Sam looks somewhere between heartbroken and terrified, and that pisses Dean off and spurs him on.

"All those years, all that pain, finally gettin' to deal some back yourself? I didn't care who they put in front of me, because that pain I felt? It just slipped away. No matter how many people I save, I can't change that. I can't fill this hole. Not ever."

For a few minutes, Sam is quiet. He chews on his lip and he stares at the ground, and Dean just takes it as further proof that there will come a time when Sam gives up on him. Dean's almost looking forward to it. At least it'll make sense. Sam will never look at him the same way again. Dean is broken now, and Sam can see it. When Dean thinks back to all the things they've hunted in his lifetime; spirits spreading terror and wreaking havoc just for the hell of it, creatures ripping innocent people apart like it was some kind of game … Dean can't really see a difference anymore between the things he hates and himself. He always used to tell himself that killing as many monsters as he possibly could was his own personal redemption – like it canceled out everything that was wrong inside him and at least gave him a shot at being a good person. Until Hell.

"Can I tell you something that you're not gonna wanna hear?" Sam asks eventually.

Dean shrugs. "Can I stop you?"

"It wasn't your fault, what happened to that guy in the house. Ted."

Dean glares at him. Sam's right, he definitely didn't want to hear that.

"Dean, it wasn't," Sam insists. "Our job is not to save every person we ever meet. With what we do, there are always going to be casualties. You know that. People are always going to die, Dean, and if you blame yourself for every time it happens … that's a dark road, man. And you know where it ends."

Dean shakes his head. "If I just hadn't left him alone …"

"If I'd killed Ava, she wouldn't have been able to kill Andy," Sam says simply, like that's supposed to make some kind of sense to Dean.

"That's stupid. You had no idea she was gonna go psycho."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "Oh, so you _did_ know the girl was gonna kill Ted? You knew it was gonna happen and you decided to just let her do it?"

Dean glares again. "Clever."

"How is that not the exact same thing you're doing? Dean, you're faulting yourself for not being able to see the future. That makes no sense. Getting wrapped up in _ifs_ is digging yourself into a pit that you can't ever climb out of. You are a person, you're supposed to make mistakes. That's how it works."

Dean doesn't answer. He looks away, but Sam nudges his shoulder and makes him look back.

"Hey. It wasn't your fault," he repeats, slowly and emphatically. "We do the best we can, save as many people as we can. The rest is up to – "

"God?" Dean suggests sarcastically.

"Or whatever," Sam concedes.

Dean swallows thickly and looks away again. After another few minutes, Sam gets up off the car and takes the few steps over to Dean, sitting down beside him on the barrier. He sits close enough that their arms touch, and Dean itches to get himself back into his brother's arms where somehow everything always makes sense even when nothing else does, but he'd never forgive himself for being that weak. Not on top of everything else.

"Look, I know it isn't my fault, alright?" he says after a long silence punctured only by the sound of cars passing overhead. "What m'doin', making us hunt around the clock, it's not gonna fix anything. I know that. I just don't know what else to do, Sam. When I can save people … I don't know. It feels good."

"It's supposed to feel good. I just don't want you thinkin' there's some kind of, I don't know, cosmic score sheet."

Dean nods and blinks against the burning behind his eyes. "So, you're saying I can't ever make up for what I did."

"What? No," Sam says quickly. He looks at Dean, but Dean doesn't look back. "Dean, no. That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"That what you did in Hell … Dean, it's _what you did in_ _Hell_. The circumstances on their own should be enough to exonerate you, don't you think?"

"Big word," Dean mutters, mostly to diffuse the tension. It doesn't really work.

"It means you deserve to be forgiven."

"Yeah, I know what it means, dick. Just because I didn't go to some fancy college doesn't mean you gotta stick to two-syllables."

Sam inhales sharply like he's about to snap back at Dean, but then he doesn't. He knows Dean too well – knows Dean's baiting him in an attempt to get out of continuing this conversation. Sam stands up and takes a few steps away, and Dean watches as he runs his hands through his hair. Then Sam turns around, and fixes Dean with those damn sad eyes that break Dean down to his foundations.

"Sorry," Dean mumbles, but Sam shakes his head.

"We're brothers. We're supposed to …"

"Yeah." Dean licks his lips and drops his gaze. He sees Sam walking back towards him out of the corner of his eyes, and then Sam's feet step onto the patch of road Dean's eyes are glued to. He reaches out and tentatively touches Dean's arm, and Dean closes his eyes. "Sam."

Sam ignores him and leans down, pressing his lips to Dean's. Dean isn't expecting it and he freezes; just lets Sam kiss him for a moment before he remembers where they are. "Sam," he says again, pushing Sam gently away with a hand on his chest.

"There's no one here," Sam murmurs, letting his lips fall away but not moving back. He links his fingers together around the back of Dean's neck.

Dean wants to argue but then Sam kisses him again, and Dean gets lost in it for a minute or two. Sam's soft lips, the familiar taste and feel of them, the way his big hands feel sliding down Dean's back, his presence in Dean's space, larger-than-life and everything Dean's spent his whole life loving so much it isn't healthy for either of them. Sam ends the kiss with a few small brushes of his lips, and then he wraps his arms around Dean. Dean doesn't hug him back, but he's so confused and angry and wrecked and he can't stop himself from leaning into his brother's chest.

"You gotta try to forgive yourself," Sam whispers.

"Why?" Dean asks flatly.

"Because sometimes there are things that you have to do to survive."

"Is that supposed to make it okay?"

"Yeah, it is. It _does_."

Sam rests his chin on the top of Dean's head, and Dean hates it but being tucked up against Sam soothes him just a little. He inhales deeply, drawing the smell of Sam and soap into his lungs, trying desperately to just let himself have this – to just take the comfort Sam's offering and not beat himself up for it.

"It doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel like shit about it," Sam continues. "You can feel however you wanna feel. But the only person on the _planet_ who would blame you for what happened is you."

"I can't …" Dean sniffs and shakes his head. He puts his hands on Sam's stomach just to feel him, warm and solid. He slides them down and pushes his fingers up under Sam's shirt to feel Sam's skin. "I can't just turn it off."

"I know."

"I've got all this …" He trails off and doesn't bother finishing the thought. Sam doesn't need the details of what goes through Dean's head on a daily basis. He'd just feel sorry for Dean, and the last thing Dean needs is anyone's pity.

"Wanna get outta here?" Sam asks, and Dean nods.

They get back into the car, and Dean leaves his untouched burger sitting on the concrete wall. He doesn't want it anymore. He just wants to drive, with Sam beside him and Metallica blaring through the speakers. It doesn't feel as good as it used to, but nothing does. It's fine. Dean will find them a motel room and he'll lock the doors and turn the lights off and pull Sam into bed with him. A few hours of sweaty bodies and hurried kisses and pleasure-soaked moans will take his mind off things. It'll only be temporary, but for now it's the best Dean has. Sam deserves a few good orgasms anyway, for having to put up with Dean the last few weeks. Dean's barely been able to stand _himself_, so there's no way Sam isn't fed up with him too. Maybe if Dean starts blowing him more often, it'll make Sam stick around for a little longer before he inevitably gives up and leaves. Knowing Dean's luck, it'll probably backfire somehow. But it's worth a shot.


End file.
